Bombshell
by casfics
Summary: After rekindling on the hospital balcony, life resumes for Ethan and Alicia as they have always dreamed it someday would. However, nothing is ever straightforward, especially not when there’s a secret threatening to surface — one that could irreparably change everything.


It is chilly outside.

The icy wind that blows is more than a mild annoyance: it howls at the window panes, desperate to be heard.

Rather be inside than out in it, Ethan thinks.

They didn't stop off at her place on the way, despite her insistence. Being on the verge of tears, he was not a force to be reckoned with, and so he got his own way. All she had wanted was her dressing gown anyway. She had grumbled a little, but her worries were quelled very speedily with the promise of his own jumper. She had fondly termed it 'shag rag' all those months ago — a phrase that made him more than a little uncomfortable. Especially when she used to feel mischievous and say it as loudly as possibly in the supermarket. But, as they walked along to his flat, the thought of the navy, threadbare garment and her in it had given him more than a fuzzy feeling.

Alicia emerges from the shower, barely dressed, on purpose. His eyes hover for a moment before quickly fixing on the floor — in truth, he doesn't know where to look. There are obvious boundaries, or are there?

She isn't put off and closes in. It is a bold move. His eyes glance up and she catches him, which makes the corners of her lips twitch. She is smug but she can afford to be. He groans softly, frustrated, and she outstretches a palm in his direction.

He clears his throat. 'Do you, uh, need to borrow some clothes?'

'I don't know,' she answers. ' _Do_ I?'

The parroting coupled with wide blue eyes stops him in his tracks. He is halted momentarily and he hates himself for falling into such an obvious trap.

'Yes.' He finds himself answering. 'You said a f-film, and—'

Her expression freezes. Thinking. Considering. 'I did, yeah. Sorry.'

She shrugs like it is a genuine mistake, as easily made as forgetting to pick up milk, or washing a white shirt with the darks load. In a moment she is gone. Ethan sinks back into the sofa, glaring back at the TV screen. A sigh escapes his lips. The choices that stare back no longer seem appealing options, rather nuisances, chores. He wonders if it's subconscious, his refusal, if it's a warning sign, or if he's just so used to the lifestyle of the romantically constipated.

There. With a single click, he selects "Friends With Benefits", a title that alone matches the description of 'bad film' perfectly. Besides, it is apt considering the situation. Maybe the inference is far too obvious. Perhaps that's a good thing.

It is too late to do anything, for the murmur of movement ceases and all falls quiet. He frowns. Then she's there, in the doorway, looking back at him.

Lingering winds them both up. Neither being overly patient when outside a hospital environment, it means this is simultaneously the best and worst course of action. It is frustrating, but he knows he's missed his chance.

She has chosen surprisingly from his wardrobe. A familiar tartan button-up shirt, which hangs below the knees. The one he struggles time after time to remove because of the material. Not that that matters - he isn't in a position to think like that. Ridiculously oversized trousers.

'Try not to trip.' He points towards the flood in a bid to make her aware of the trailing cuffs.

'I think that's the least of our worries,' Alicia says, in a way that sounds like it's probably meant to have a double meaning, one he fails to decipher.

'Enough injuries witnessed and treated in one day. Not you as well.'

She sweeps her blonde hair over her shoulder in one movement. 'Hm. It wouldn't be so bad.'

'It would,' he replies decisively. 'For a start, I can't possibly eat two pizzas and three sides by myself, and it would be rude to turn the driver away now we have ordered—'

'But I'm sure you could make a valiant effort.' She sits on the sofa aside him.

'Now where have I heard those words before?'

They are plunged into silence.

Shit.

If only rewind buttons existed for such situations, Ethan thinks. One on his whole life, actually. It feels incredibly cynical to have that occupying his mind, however fleetingly, while _she_ is by his side.

'Alcohol?' She asks, attempting to read the situation.

He smirks a little, remembering her words months ago.

" _A glass of red lands us in bed."_

Funnily, it has stayed with him. He doesn't want the drink to determine the events of the evening. If it is, it is.

'Uh, no.' He says stiffly. 'Wouldn't want a hangover.'

'Lightweight.' She mumbles, though her eyes sparkle a little. 'But is beer, or half a glass different?'

She _definitely_ knows.

'Uh, how is this for a film?'

She squints a little to read the description. 'Well, I'm not against it. Used to love this one. Little raunchy though, isn't it?'

Ethan winces. That is the point. 'Yeah, it's a bad film. Close your eyes through those bits?'

The comment makes her giggle a while. 'I didn't mean bad as in naughty, I meant—'

'I know what you meant!' He exclaims, spotting the glint in her eye. 'Would you like to find something else?'

She shakes her head in earnest, snatching the remote and clicking the play button with force. The doorbell rings shrilly as the opening credits start. Alicia springs off the sofa, flounces over, turns the keys and pulls open the door with a flourish. Two crisp notes and thanks are given to the driver who leaves with a little wave. She lifts the boxes to her nose for a second. Eyes fixed on the cardboard squares across her palms, she spins around with a grin.

'Food's here!'

'Want to bother with plates?'

She laughs. 'Not unless you also want to bother with washing up alone.'

He sits up and can't help but smile a little at the sight alone of her excited face. 'I'll just pop to wash my hands then.'

Her shoulders sag like a child who has been refused a toy from the shop.

'Hurry then!'

'Tuck in without me, I know you're starving.'

'That wouldn't be fair.' She sighs a little. 'Just go wash them and stop the dithering, you could have been back by now.'

Ethan realises arguing at this point is nothing but futile. Though having not eaten all day, it is certain that Alicia will not dig in without him. She would never. She owns a weird set of values whereby it's rude to; there isn't a chance she will deviate from them even for one occasion.

Hot water burns his knuckles as he scrubs. Soap is lathered, backs, fronts, spaces between fingers, wrists. All over again. And once more.

'Smells amazing,' he says, as he collapses back down next to her.

'I know.' She nods, gently opening the lid. 'Sometimes I see food and I just—'

His brow furrows in confusion, the hand with the slice in it pauses until he realises.

A sinking feeling grasps his chest.

'Food moved you to tears?' He asks tentatively, sliding the box away so he can reach for her free hand.

She cries quietly through her mouthful, but she's smiling, and he can't work out the emotion.

'Stop this, you'll choke!' He scolds lightly, squeezing her fingers in soft reassurance. 'It will go cold, Alicia, come on now, eat properly.'

They both shovel pizza into their mouths at breakneck speed, and at some point, the crying ebbs away to a stop. Of course she is full of emotion — they kissed after a 12 hour shift and she hasn't eaten all day. The more he muses this over, the less surprised he is at her sudden outburst.

This continues for about ten minutes until they're stuffed, then they both breathe out in unison.

'Have you been watching?' He asks, glancing across at her scraping a finger round the edges of the cardboard box to collect the grease.

'Not really.' She confesses. 'It was just for background anyway, wasn't it?'

'It looked an interesting watch.' His voice falters.

Out of nowhere, she produces a bottle of wine. 'Can I really not twist your arm?'

Without waiting for a reply, Alicia pops the cork almost expertly and starts to gulp from the bottle. His eyes widen exactly in the way she wants them to. Smiling smugly, she removes her lips from the rim and places it in his lap.

'Your go.' She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand with nonchalance. 'It's only _eleven_ percent.'

'Have you had it on the sofa all this time? How did you smuggle that in? Couldn't you at least get a glass? Not exactly the classiest—'

She tips her head backwards and lets out a noise of frustration. 'Then you have to measure what you have.'

Ethan is clearly dubious. 'Well, I—'

'Don't be boring! Just have some, for God's sake.'

Suddenly he's washed with a sense of deja vu. It is certainly not every day he feels persuaded to go against his convictions. In fact, it is very rare he is. The last time can pretty much be pinned back to high school: days of ' _just one_ ' on the old playing fields, or even the time when a reckless Cal had persuaded him that one line would do him no harm back in med school, obviously not preempting the projectile vomiting and increased heart rate that landed them in their own teaching hospital overnight. But no, this is different.

Alicia is winning him over by her mere presence. He would be willing to do anything for her. Mildly terrifying, but very true. It is so different. He is in a controlled environment. He is an adult. This is his love. It's one bottle of red. The bottle they both like to drink and know to drink safely.

In a few seconds he has swallowed it back as if it were water. His efforts induce a tipsy round of applause from the woman aside him, whose smile is a product of both fatigue and hormones and maybe even a little bit of affection. Of course she goes back for round two. It is both disgusting and endearing to watch her; she drinks as if someone is about to snatch it off her. The swift motion of bottle up, head back, conveys a sense of urgency that confuses him a great deal.

Maybe she just wants to get drunk. Maybe there's a good reason for that.

Ethan's suspicions are confirmed in the most poignant of ways. It starts on the sofa and moves ten metres to the bedroom a while later. Not once throughout do either close their eyes or turn off the light. It is a first, yet he knows this like the back of his hand.

-x-

7:00am.

Ethan wakes up with a start, then quickly wishes he hadn't.

The cave of his bed is comforting. Egyptian cotton white sheets — ironed, of course — and matching pillow cases to suit. A grey fluffy throw adorns it, which removes the need for such luxury bedding.

But, there are few things in life that he affords himself. Nice decor feels essential. And, this morning, he really doesn't want to leave it.

His shift starts in fifty minutes. _Forty nine._

With a loud groan, he rolls over, and flinches at the sight before him. He's forgotten completely that she is there. It is wonderful that she is though.

The corners of his lips twitch a little, forming a grin. There's no time to waste but this is time well spent.

She rests peacefully, chin propped on the back of her hand. Lips are parted slightly, eyelids heavy, complexion fair but cheeks rosy hued, lost to slumber. His fingers brush against her damp forehead, gently fixing the loose blonde strands behind her ear.

One of her hands flies up to her cheek, then her fingers curl tightly around his thumb. This simple unconscious movement makes his chest ache. Though acutely aware of the steady lapse of early morning, he pauses to take it in. He could make all the time in the world for a moment like this.

By rights, with a shift starting at 9 and makeup to do, she should also be rising. However, he isn't about to disturb her, especially not while she looks so beautiful. It would feel like a crime.

'Sorry beautiful,' whispers Ethan, swallowing a little. 'I have to go.'

Tentatively, he tries withdrawing his hand. It is a mistake. Her eyelids flutter open, alarmed and fearful of the world. So, he does what he knows to: smiles and plants a tender kiss on her cheeks. It's a safe zone, besides, she might not be _too_ welcoming of morning breath.

She giggles cheekily, then rolls her head back into the pillow, soaking up the warmth their bodies had left in the fabric. Her foot connects with a pizza box, sending it tumbling onto the floor. Both let out a little groan as the thud reaches their ears.

'Morning,' she mumbles, eyes connecting with his.

'Hey.' He replies, blinking back, radiating warmth. 'You okay? Wine headache?'

'Never better.' She answers truthfully. 'I gather you've been up longer than me.'

'Work, sweetheart—'

'Christ, yeah. What time is it?'

'Now 7:22.' He says. 'I was up twenty minutes ago, but I haven't managed to dress myself yet.'

'Well, it's one of those days...'

He nods a little. 'Yes, it is. I couldn't take my eyes off you again.'

She hides her face in her hands, but his index finger and thumb become firm bangles around her wrists: they pin them back to her sides so they can focus properly on one another.

She looks straight at the ceiling. 'You make me blush.'

A smile plays on his lips. 'And you me. This is a perfect morning. I was lucky to wake up inches from you. Half a mattress away is the furthest we should ever be from one another at night, not half the town away, half the world away mentally.'

She tumbles out of bed, standing upright, hair tousled and sticking up.

'It's a look, I'll give you that.' He teases.

'Which part?' She replies innocently.

'All! You suit my shirt.'

Alicia doesn't miss a beat. 'You suit my bra.'

It is his turn to blush. 'I only let that happen because I thought it would please you—'

'And that it did,' she nods, beginning to fold back the covers. 'Still funny though that you actually put it on.'

'In my defence, I was under the influence of that dodgy wine you addled me with.'

She scoffs. 'Dodgy!'

He helps her neaten the bed. It is a joint effort but they do so in silence, avoiding eye contact now they're upright. They haven't stood up since before everything happened. Being vertical instead of horizontal throws them back down to reality with force.

But, they can't disregard completely the implications the night could have. Though he hates to bring in seriousness and ruin the jovial chatter, he knows he must.

'Uh, I will sort you the levonorgestrel pill when I get in today. Come in with a coffee or something. That way, no one will suspect anything.'

'And so what if they do?' She quizzes.

As he buttons his shirt, he catches sight of her upset expression in the mirror and shakes his head vigorously as if to distort the image.

'Of course I didn't mean anything by it. I just meant th-that, questions may be asked, and neither of us needs the hassle right now. Come on, Alic—'

'It's fine.' She says warmly, wriggling into yesterday's clothes. 'I know where you're coming from. Do we have any in?'

'Any what?'

'Pills, like you said.'

'I'm sure we do.' He straightens his tie and slips into his blazer. 'It won't be a hassle.'

'Plan B,' she laughs a little uneasily. 'I feel like a kid again.'

'You could always take the gamble and deal with it later, should it happen.'

'Wouldn't be wise to. Ovulating.' She sighs, ragging a comb through her hair desperately.

'Right.' Ethan nods, the events of the previous evening coming together and making alarming sense. 'I'll prescribe it then. I'm going to get a taxi into work, you should hop in and go home for an hour before work.'

'It's only a twenty minute walk. I want the fresh air, clear my head a bit maybe. But — thanks.'

'If you're sure?'

'Positive. Sweet of you to offer though.'

He turns to face her, arms slightly open. 'Door is however you left it last night. I don't suppose you need briefing though, if your memory serves you well—'

She freezes. 'What, memory about last night?'

'Gosh — no, I meant about the way the door works, and, well, I was rambling really—'

In a few little steps, Alicia's arms are draped around his neck and she chuckles softly. 'I know what you meant. The opportunity was there and I took it.'

'Always such a tease,' he answers, but holds her a little tighter as their parting embrace.

-x-

As he crosses the car park, he attempts a wave at David and dodges an oncoming ambulance. He is late. Only by ten minutes, but he is hoping the board aren't downstairs and breathing down his neck because of it. Oh, to be punctual. If he'd only hurried earlier. It is a question too about accessing the right medication and sneaking it back to her.

Alicia.

He wonders if she got home safely. Either way, he has no way of knowing until she arrives at work. Since they were rushing, she left her phone on the kitchen countertop. It is lucky he spotted it sitting by the kettle and thought to pick it up. In truth, it is a good thing. It means the night was enough for them to not want to check their phones, to disconnect from the outside world. The thought alone is enough to make his heart swell.

Clumsily he pulls one of the two phones out of his pocket to check the time. The display lights up immediately, notifications that aren't his. A message from Jackie. One from Noel. Another couple of names that seem alien to him. In the back of his mind, he knows he shouldn't be looking. It's private. He is invading her privacy. Yet he can't tear his eyes away.

Most strikingly of all, the latest notification.

 _'Dear Rage in Resus,_

 _Thought this may be of interest to you. Hope to see it in the next article!'_

His blood runs cold, legs feel like they aren't his. A manner of possibilities fly through his head: sent in error, perhaps, or forwarded to her by a friend?

Thumb fuelled by panic, he quickly punches in the numbers he could recite in his sleep. It unlocks. The notes page is entered.

Sure enough, all the articles sit there staring back at him. It isn't his to see, but his stomach lurches all the same. He is sick violently into a nearby drain. Nobody is there to see. It is probably for the best.

 _The worst kind of bombshell._

-x-

 ** _AN: So my take on events! Please do let me know what you think as this took a little while. Will probably be my last proper update for the next few months — obviously I will do some but there will be very few until June! Still reading everyone else's wonderful stories and ever grateful of any comments, messages or ideas you would like to send me in the mean time._**


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